Pizza-Nazi Old Ladies.
03.03.07
E00:50
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Music o' the Entry: "Sing Sing Sing", Benny Goodman
Swing is some of the greatest music ever made, and is one of the very few that can actually force me to dance, and activity I generally avoid, being a shy one and all. But man...wow. I REALLY need to take a swing dancing class, although I fear I'd embarrass myself beyond measure. But don't we all? Perhaps I should stick to speaking Japanese.
Not too much to write about-school is awful, with for the first time in my life geography actually being worse than my eternal adversary, mathematics, because of the resurfacing of the indescribable evil known as TOPOGRAPHIC MAPS. YARG. Actually, I'll extend the definition a little-I'm developing a pathological hatred for maps in general, I'm afraid, because they frustrate me to the point of ulcer development. Does anyone else have this issue? It's worrying me more than a little, given I'm supposedly going to emerge from this university with a geography degree under my belt...who ever heard of a geographer who hates, who can't work with maps? S'like a mathematician who can't add; it ain't working. I don't know, but I'm developing a dread of my upcoming cartography class for next fall...we'll see what happens, but a drastic change in plans may be in order in the future...still, I will not act prematurely.
So tonight I was in the city and Matt and I, both being sick of all this finals shiznit, decided to dine at our favourite, classiest dining establishment, the venerable Eatza Pizza. There I witnessed something that just boggled my mind: a crazy old lady. As some of you may know, Eatza Pizza is a buffet, and when you come in they ask if there's a pizza they could make for you. THAT THEY'RE GOING TO PUT ON THE BUFFET. Somehow this woman got the notion in her head that requesting a pizza automatically makes the entire thing exclusive property of the requester. She asked the cooks if she could take it to her table, to which they responded, "Uh, no." So she quietly muttered, "Then I'll just have to stock up...", took 3-4 plates, and took the entire pizza to her table. I observed her doing this on two occasions. I don't know, do some people just not understand the concept of the BUFFET? Reminds me of something Matt told me about a woman in his philosophy class, they were discussing communism and she repeatedly asked "Well, if the workers work harder, do they get paid more?" and such ad nauseum. OY. I mean, come on...ye gods, people these days.
I think I may be developing a hypothesis. Okay, the major city located next to my craphole university seems to have a remarkably high mulleted population, both male and female (ostensibly). It also seems to boast a number of absolute idiots. So my thought is, is the mullet population directly proportional to the amount of mind-boggling idiots in any given population? Seriously, every time I leave my house it gets worse...for example, I saw a penis-extension truck today with two spoilers. Yes, two. One atop the cab and one on the tailgate. A SPOILER ON THE TAILGATE.
Gah. I think I need a nap, I'm becoming mildly comatose and I've had a long day involving 3.5 hours of geology lab joy, an unfruitful trip to the city library (although I DID get to read Mother Jones and the Alternative Press magazines, both of which pleased me immensely and put me into activist mode, a mode which has yet to be realized), and more papers stacking up. It is most definitely naptime, it was 45 minutes ago. It just feels good to write, that's all. Trust me, it feels much more natural for me than speaking, which always sounds ridiculous and somehow involves me mangling my grammar to something even I can't sort out. Perhaps I speak too swiftly. Ah well, good night all, and my big fat Xenosaga speech next time (no, it has not yet been completed, but I'm over halfway finished).
chronos
Ekairos
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